


Dance, Dagger, Dream

by RavioliRed



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Although masquerades were very much the inspiration for this you don't really see much of the party, Angst with a Happy Ending, But like early on, But only a little, Canon Timeline, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic Revealed, Masquerade, Oops, Pre-Morgana betrayal, either way a happy ending though, the merther can be romantic or platonic your choice, there's stabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 02:36:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20184838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavioliRed/pseuds/RavioliRed
Summary: “A party that I get to attend instead just clean up after? How bad could it be?” said Merlin.Arthur only grinned.And then, because fate has it out for them, everything goes wrong.





	Dance, Dagger, Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!! I'm jumping fandoms again, I swear one day I'll write more than one piece for a thing lol. In the meantime, take this!! It's the longest thing I've ever written for fic, and I'm actually kinda proud of it :) Hope you enjoy!
> 
> *** Heads up for depiction of an anxiety attack.

For as much as Merlin had genuinely disliked Arthur upon first impression, it didn’t take long for him to realize that the prince had _some_ redeeming qualities. Within a year of Merlin’s assignment as his manservant, the two had already saved each other’s lives about a dozen times, and Merlin grudgingly had to admit that there was something noble in the way Arthur held his knights (and himself) to a standard of perfection for the sake of Camelot. Despite occasionally still behaving like an ass, it was clear that he took his position very seriously.

Merlin frowned at the armor he was polishing in Arthur’s chambers and thought, _He was still an ass, though._ He remembered the last time they’d saved each other’s lives along with the merciless teasing that followed that surely only _Arthur_ could have managed, and decided that Arthur’s supreme aversion to feelings-talk would probably be funnier if one of them didn’t have to nearly die for him to admit he cared.

In that moment, the doors to the room slammed open and a very disgruntled Arthur came stomping in. Merlin could tell by the relatively relaxed set of his shoulders that nothing was _too_ serious, so he smiled as he set down the gauntlet in his hands and turned to face the prince.

“What, did someone kick a puppy at council today?”

Arthur sighed, but his mouth quirked up into a half-smile even as he rolled his eyes, and Merlin had to repress his own smile in response.

“No, worse. Camelot’s yearly ball is coming up, and I can’t get out of going, even though it’s a _massive_ waste of time,” he said.

“Oh boo hoo, the poor prince has to go to a party,” Merlin laughed.

Then Arthur perked up in what was, in Merlin’s opinion, an _awfully_ suspicious manner, and said, “The prince and his _manservant_, you mean. The whole household’s to be there, and last I checked that included you.”

Merlin didn’t let that ruffle him. “A party that I get to attend instead just clean up after? How bad could it be?” 

Arthur only grinned.

* * *

He should’ve been suspicious when Arthur mentioned royal servants joining in the festivities, but he hadn’t suspected a _masquerade_. He’d easily accepted the hand-me-down party clothes shoved into his arms, but it wasn’t until right beforehand, when he and Arthur had just finished preparing in the prince’s chambers, that he was handed a dark blue frowning mask that matched Arthur’s laughing golden one. Arthur found the comparison hilarious.

“I see, _this_ is why I’m allowed to go,” Merlin grumbled, settling his mask firmly in place and helping the prince with his. “As long as no one _knows_ I’m a servant, right?” They left the chambers and started towards the ballroom.

“Don’t be such a soursport, Merlin,” Arthur replied, as if he himself hadn’t been annoyed about going the night before, “maybe you’ll find some noble lady to charm and have an illicit affair with.”

Merlin choked on air. “Frankly, if they’re anything like Morganna I’ll have to pass.” Plus, destiny had a tendency to intervene if his attentions lingered long anywhere but on Arthur. He tried not to let the thought ruin the good mood, but something must have made it to his face because in a moment, Arthur was guffawing.

“She might be a bit cold, but she’s not _that_ bad.” They’d reached the entrance to the ballroom, and Arthur reached for the door. “Ready?” he asked.

Merlin rolled his eyes, even though he was pretty sure Arthur wasn’t looking. “As I’ll ever be.”

Beyond the ornate doors, the ballroom was huge. It was almost entirely filled with people, reminding Merlin of a busy market day, but everyone here was dressed in their finest, chatting in circles or dancing near where a minstrel plucked at a stringed instrument. He tried not to gawk, but Arthur’s elbow in his ribs told him he was failing. 

“I have to go up front, my father’s to speak soon. Get me a drink, will you? And don’t fall in.” Without waiting for a response, the prince navigated his way forward, leaving Merlin to fend for himself. 

“Prat,” he muttered under his breath. At least he had an excuse to not talk to anyone he didn’t want to.

He waded through the crowd towards the door to the kitchens, hoping to catch one of the food-and-drink-laden servants on their way out. When he got there, it seemed someone else had already had the same idea. He looked more carefully at the person, a woman in dark green and a matching mask made to look like leaves, and recognition sparked.

“Gwen?”

She turned around, surprised. “Merlin?”

He gave a little wave. “Getting a drink for Morgana?” At her nod, he laughed good-naturedly. “Even when we’re all supposed to appear like equals, we’re always at their beck and call, aren’t we?”

Gwen smiled ruefully. “Well, they’ve got their own things to attend to, I suppose.”

“What, standing up there and looking pretty? Must be tough.”

“I’ll tell him you said that!” she giggled.

Merlin smiled, glad that he’d found her in the crowd. He was just about to return that Arthur’s heard it all from him before when he noticed a faint, strangely familiar buzzing in the air, although he had the distinct feeling that it wasn’t directed at him. He frowned, puzzling over it for a moment before the answer slapped him in the face.

Magic.

He turned to Gwen, hoping to quickly excuse himself and find Arthur _now,_ but saw her looking far-off with a dazed expression. He tried saying her name, but she only frowned, looking confused. Many of the other visitors looked the same.

“I was just talking to…” she turned to him, “Merlin? Is that you? I can’t… you look different. Fuzzy.”

He sighed in relief: she didn’t seem hurt, just confused. The spell must make people hard to identify by physical features, since she could still place him logically. “Yes Gwen, it’s me. I’m going to go find Arthur and probably Morgana too. You try and get out of here, okay?” She was almost certainly not any sorcerer’s target, but he wanted her to be out of harm’s way if anything got out of hand. Gwen nodded, still looking a bit dazed, but now with a determined pinch to her brows.

“I can get others out too. Evacuate. Something’s going on, right? You’ve got that tone.”

Merlin agreed readily, grateful, and after a quick farewell started sprinting towards the front of the room. He remembered being awed by the size of the room not ten minutes before: now he would have given anything to half the distance between him and Arthur.

About twenty paces away, he and the prince locked eyes. As Merlin feared, there was only a faint, far-off confusion there: no recognition. Worse, Arthur was slowly being intently, if slowly, approached by about half a dozen guests in unfamiliar-looking robes and colorful bird masks. 

And just as Merlin was afraid it couldn’t get worse, Arthur opened his mouth. “You there! Why are you running? And how do I know you?” The six masked intruders turned to face him, and Merlin felt suddenly aware of his complete and utter lack of a plan. 

Figuring stealth was hardly an option, he called an answer and a warning: “‘M Merlin, your manservant! Sire, these people invaded the ball and they most likely intend you harm. Be on your guard!” The prince looked shocked for a moment, but seemed to accept the information easily enough, sliding into a defensive stance.

Then Merlin skidded to the prince’s side and immediately put himself between him and the intruders, despite the prince’s hissed protest. Merlin’s ribs were cramped as hell from the sprint and he was gasping for breath, but he drew himself up to try and look as intimidating as possible. The intruders paused. One of them actually cocked their head to the side as they took a single step forward, and Merlin tried not to let it unnerve him.

“Emrys,” they said, and Merlin froze in place, not daring to look behind him at Arthur. A hand came up to remove the mask, this one patterned in a bright blue-jay’s colors, to reveal a woman with surprisingly soft, smiling eyes. “We are not here to harm you, or the prince. We wanted to speak with you, which is why we left your mind clear.”

Given the number of things that went wrong in their lives, this did not comfort Merlin extensively, and he sensed from the uneasy shifting behind him that Arthur felt the same. “What do you want? With the prince or with this ‘Emrys?’” he ground out between clenched teeth. He didn’t know what Arthur could understand or not; he wasn’t about to admit to his alter identity out of carelessness.

The woman held up placating hands. “We merely wish to extend an invitation to you,” she said, going on to explain something about a cult of the Old Religion which had split off hundreds of years ago. What stuck was when she said, “We believe that the druid’s reading of the prophecy is false; that Emrys’s place is not here, perpetually disrespected and believed less than he is, but as King of Camelot himself.”

Arthur made an indignant noise, and even in his confused state made a sharp remark about magical tyrants that stung. The woman didn’t react, though, until Merlin let out a loud, bitter laugh. He didn’t trust himself to speak about the prophecy in front of Arthur, but he was pretty sure he got his thoughts across. 

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” he added, just to be sure.

The woman narrowed her eyes, disapproving. 

It was then that he noticed that, in the course of the conversation, one of the other intruders had shifted forward, creeping to the side where Merlin no longer blocked Arthur. As he looked up, one of them grasped something from their hip and dove forward, and Merlin didn’t think, didn’t hesitate, didn’t wonder what to do for even a fraction of a second.

He threw himself, and then there was pain, white-hot in his gut. He looked down and promptly wished he hadn’t.

In his last moments of consciousness, he saw the woman snarl and throw up an arm in their direction, clearly about to cast something to finish off the other’s work. Merlin sucked in a breath, prayed, and threw up a magical barrier around himself and Arthur. As his vision swam to black, he felt the arms around him (when had that happened?) stiffen, and then let go to the sound of angry swearing. He wondered whether it would really matter, if he ever woke up again; he was a dead man either way.

* * *

Arthur watched as the boy in front of him — Merlin, he reminded himself, that was Merlin — laughed openly at a sorceress, and couldn’t help but be struck. Was he brave, or just stupid? Though he supposed if it really was Merlin, that would make sense. Damn his muddled head!

He was too busy looking, though, to notice the more immediate threat, and could only watch as Merlin threw himself in front of a knife that was clearly intended for him, listen at his soft exhalation as the blade drove home into his gut. Arthur caught him instinctively, but his shock and horror were very quickly giving way to rage.

“NO!” the sorceress screamed, throwing up a hand. Before he could react, the boy in his arms whispered a word, shakily holding up his hands, and a wall of undeniably magical energy appeared between them and the woman. The bolt of energy flew from her hand, and for a moment Arthur was certain it would hit them, or the magical barrier, but instead it sailed over them to hit the man who’d meant to stab him. 

“You _fool_,” she yelled, “there is no prophecy without him!” She spoke another word, harsh and not in a language Arthur understood, and he felt his muddled head clear. He looked around and saw with relief that the ballroom had cleared of its patrons. Then his stomach dropped as the words clicked into place, along with the realization that _Merlin had just used magic,_ and also that _Merlin just got stabbed for him and was possibly in grave danger._

He swore under his breath and laid Merlin down as gently as he could. This prophecy stuff, he decided, they would be having a good chat about later. But Merlin — _bumbling Merlin!_— was a sorcerer, and he had been keeping it a secret from him, like he was some kind of fool. But then he thought about Melrin standing up to the sorceress and thought, _Maybe not so bumbling,_ as tears of anger, confusion, and more than anything _hurt_ pricked at the corners of his eyes. 

There was, he decided, quite a lot to settle later. But for the moment, he would settle for ripping apart the ones who had done this to him.

He took a moment to be grateful for his weaponless training and lunged at the nearest bird-masked intruder. He felt like he was vibrating with contained anger, so it was easy to allow his instincts take over; he felt like he was watching himself as he dodged, blocked, jabbed and cross-punched, and then leaned his weight into a vicious haymaker that knocked his opponent out and down. It was clear they’d never had formal training, and hardly thirty seconds passed before he’d taken down another.

He’d just turned to the third when the man fell, revealing the sorceress now standing across from Arthur, arm raised from a just-cast spell.

She met his eyes, and he was surprised to see her anger nearly match his own. “These men broke a promise to me,” she said, “and I do not take that lightly.”

Each turned to their last target, taking them down with brutal efficiency, and she continued: “There were to be no injuries today, Arthur Pendragon, and I still wish you no harm. But men who promise peace to bring bloodshed instead will soon find pain of their own, threefold what they dealt their foe. Remember that, in the days to come.”

And before he could decide what would come next, she spoke another word and he fell to the ground unconscious as she walked away.

* * *

Merlin opened his eyes in Gaius’s infirmary, and promptly wished he hadn’t. His stomach ached in a way that told him sitting up would be a rather poor idea, and his memories of the masquerade were mercilessly clear. He was surprised he was allowed Gaius’s care at all.

Apparently he wasn’t alone, though, because as soon as he allowed himself a bone-deep, despairing groan that he had _surely_ earned, Gaius shuffled hurriedly into sight.

“You’re awake!” he exclaimed with a rare smile. “Let’s get some food into you. How are you feeling?”

Merlin smiled weakly back. “A bit worse for wear, but still alive, I suppose.” He paused, accepting Gaius’s help in sitting up and a lukewarm bowl of broth, and then figured he might as well ask, “Where’s Arthur?”

Gaius’s eyebrows pinched together in a way that told Merlin he was more worried than he was trying to let on, but he only waved a hand and replied, “Oh, I believe he’s in council. You know how it is.” His good cheer at Merlin’s consciousness gave way to a more familiar frown. “He never did explain what happened at the masquerade. Gwen said something about a magical attack when she brought you in, but there’s been no sign of anything magical at the castle since. You haven’t…?”

Merlin sighed. “I don’t know,” he said, and he had to set the bowl down when he realized his hands were shaking. Gais’s eyebrows shot up and Merlin knew there was no avoiding the story now. 

As best he could, he related the events of the masquerade, hesitating only when he got to the part where he’d saved Arthur’s life. Maybe twice. And also might have revealed his magic. Although, he added to a very pale-looking Gaius, the fact that he was alive now might mean that Arthur hadn’t remembered anything, after all. Or had magically (ha!) forgiven him for being a sorcerer and keeping it a secret this whole time.

Gaius only shook his head. “What matters most right now is that you are safe, and it seems that Camelot is in no immediate danger. I’ll see if I can speak with Arthur before he visits again, and see if he’s willing to share what he remembers or not. He may be more forthcoming now that you’re awake.” 

Now it was Merlin’s turn to frown. “Arthur’s come by? How long have I been out?”

Gaius’s look softened. “Nearly two days, and he’s been by your side as long as duty has allowed. I wondered why it took you so long to wake up, since you were healing well enough, but now I can’t help but think that it was your magic trying to keep you away from the troubles of wakefulness.”

“Away from Arthur, you mean.” He felt sick. He couldn’t imagine Arthur hurting him deliberately, but he knew that the prince would do anything if he thought that it was for the best of the kingdom, up to and including executing him. It had been so easy, with the bright shine of genuine nobility and courage that surrounded Arthur, to think of him as a friend rather than a threat. In any other universe, where Merlin didn’t have magic, or wasn’t so wrapped up in this _stupid_ prophecy, maybe they really could have been friends.

Gaius spoke again, voice grave. “I don’t know whether or not he remembers anything, Merlin. I want to believe that the prince would never put you in any additional danger. But even if he went to enforce the law on magic, we’d find a way to get you out.”

Merlin gaped at him, and then winced as he shifted. Gaius helped him lie back down and added, “You’re safe, or will be, Merlin. I swear it.” Merlin wished that he felt more reassured, but found it hard to ignore the lingering worry that gnawed at him. 

Then a firm knock came at the door. Gaius gave him one last serious look, as if trying to impress his point further, before going to let in someone Merlin suspected he knew the identity of. He tried to think about breathing evenly, and mostly failed to actually put it in practice.

“How is he?” And oh gods, that was Arthur’s voice, he was really here, this was really happening. Even though he was lying down, he could feel his hands start to shake.

He let himself close his eyes as he heard their footsteps enter the room and approach the cot, and wondered briefly if he could pretend to have fallen back asleep. He almost laughed: why was standing up to a powerful sorceress so much easier than having a conversation with someone he shared almost everything with?

He started having second thoughts when he heard the frown in Arthur’s voice as he said, “Are you sure he’s better? He’s paler than yesterday.” He heard a soft sigh as the prince settled into a chair next to the cot, where Gaius usually sat, and his heart twisted when he heard Arthur murmur “You aren’t allowed to die, Merlin. Not from this.” Because that could mean _so_ many things, but the quiet, ravaged guilt in it gave Merlin the tiniest spark of hope. He doubted Arthur would want him to hear him so vulnerable, though, so he let sleep take him before he could see his friend’s face again.

* * *

It was morning when Merlin woke again, and this time he was _hungry_. Thankfully, Gaius was able to wrangle up something more substantial than broth from the kitchens, and Merlin was tucking in to his third bowl while propped up on a dusty cushion when he nearly dropped his bowl at a familiar gale of laughter.

“Good God, where does it all _go?_” wheezed Arthur. 

“Probably into the new hole in my side,” Merlin quipped reflexively, and immediately regretted it when Arthur’s face fell. “Sorry,” he offered. At least he didn’t seem angry at him. _Maybe,_ Merlin thought, _Just maybe, he doesn’t remember. Maybe I’m safe, after all._

Arthur just waved his hand as he took his seat beside the cot. “You were the one who got stabbed,” he said, “for me.”

Merlin shrugged uncomfortably and looked away, as he usually did when anyone paid him much of this kind of attention. “I was just protecting you. It’s kind of my job, isn’t it?” 

“Merlin, I don’t think you’ve ever gotten this through your thick skull, but your job is my _manservant_, not my _bodyguard_.” He was smiling a bit ruefully, but then took a deep breath. In a too-casual voice, he added, “And as shoddy of a manservant as you are, I don’t want to replace you anytime soon.”

Merlin had to stop himself from sucking in a breath. 

“Arthur,” he started in a measured tone, “do you remember what happened?”

Arthur glanced up to where Gaius was sorting through supplies nearby, probably more for the sake of overseeing the conversation than actually doing anything. Merlin met Gaius’s questioning glance and nodded. This was probably a conversation he and Arthur should have alone. And Arthur probably didn’t know that Gaius knew about him.

The physician quickly made up an excuse about being needed elsewhere in the castle, and then they were alone.

Arthur put a hand on his arm, and said, “Merlin, I _know_,” and there was no question what he meant. Merlin could feel the still-sensitive skin on his side ache with each breath, faster and faster like a crescendoing drum, and he knew he was starting to hyperventilate. Arthur had been up to all his usual teasing since he woke up, but what if it was just for appearances? He suddenly wasn’t sure if the hand on his arm was a comfort or a vice meant to keep him in place.

Distantly, he heard his name. The pressure on his arm disappeared, and then there was a hand waving in his face so suddenly that he instinctively jumped to the back of the cot, wincing at the pull on his injury. His face heated in embarrassment. 

“Merlin! Hey, you’re okay, I’m not going to hurt you. See?” Arthur held up his hands, placating. “You’re safe here, I swear.” There was an odd expression on his face.

Merlin studied him. “But the law...” he started, throat tight.

Arthur moved to put a hand on his shoulder, but Merlin flinched away, and Arthur pulled it back, guilt crossing his expression. Merlin felt an old, tired weight in his bones, and he wished he could go to sleep instead of having this conversation.

“You saved my life,” said Arthur, “and I refuse to damn you for it.” He studied his hands in his lap. “Truth be told, yes, I was pissed when I found out. I still kind of am.” He took a long breath. “But Merlin, I’m not sure what I would do without you. If you’d really wanted me dead, you could’ve done it a thousand times by now.” He met Merlin’s eyes with what seemed like an enormous effort. “I know you’re a good man. And your secret is safe with me.”

Merlin hated the tears that threatened his vision. He hated that he wanted to hug Arthur, but simultaneously couldn’t stand the thought of touching him right now. He hated, most of all, that he could objectively accept what Arthur said as true, as something he meant with his whole, noble heart, but he couldn’t make his heart stop pounding at the thought that he _knew. He knew he knew he knew._ Maybe one day it could feel real, it could feel safe, but a lifetime’s worth of conditioning and fear couldn’t disappear overnight.

“Merlin, please say something,” said Arthur, sounding worried.

“Yeah,” he replied unhelpfully, still curled into himself on the cot. “I’m. Uhm.” He tried clearing his throat, but his voice was still strained. “Thank you,” he managed. “Really. I just. Might need some time.” At Arthur’s confused reaction, he added with a vague gesture in his direction. “To adjust to the idea.”

Arthur didn’t look like he entirely understood, and he certainly didn’t look pleased, but he nodded anyway. “I do have questions,” he said, “but they can wait for another day.”

Merlin practically sagged in relief.

“Don’t look so happy,” Arthur added with a smile that looked to Merlin like a shadow of his usual jaunty sneer, “I expect you back at work within the week, so you better make your rest count!”

It didn’t make him any less weary, but the banter did make him smile a little, and he felt a bloom of gratefulness in his chest for the relative normalcy. When he fell asleep later that day, it would be that memory that he tried to cling to.

* * *

Merlin’s wound heals quickly after that, and Arthur hadn’t been wrong: less than a week after the masquerade, Merlin was back at Arthur’s side as if nothing at all had changed between them.

Some things had, though. Maybe not from an outside perspective, he supposed. But now there was the weight of Merlin’s secret between them, and of Arthur’s unanswered questions. Every now and again, when they were alone, Merlin noticed Arthur sneaking glances at him, as if suspecting sorcery from him at every turn. He understood why Arthur was so watchful, but it still made his skin crawl to know that he was being watched _for his magic_ by someone who could order him dead for his use of it, even if he’d promised not to. 

Merlin wanted to answer his questions, but he was also afraid. What if he changed his mind? He’d asked for space, and he was grateful to be granted it, but he wasn’t sure if it was helping. He remained in one piece, but he was constantly aware that he was one man’s word away from the guillotine.

About a month after the incident, Arthur took it upon himself to bring it up again. They’d just returned from a boar hunt, and Merlin had used his magic to trip the prince into safety once when the boar had gotten too close. 

Arthur sat heavily on his bed, out of armor for the first time that day but seemingly still feeling its weight. “That was you, wasn’t it.” It wasn’t a question.

“I’m not sure what you mean, sire,” Merlin replied, careful.

Arthur fixed him with a nonplussed stare. “Merlin. I tripped where there was no vegetation to trip over, only at the very moment it would have saved me from a tusk in my leg, or worse.”

“Lucky, then.” He didn’t meet his eyes. Given that Arthur already knew about him, he wasn’t sure what hiding from him accomplished, but it still felt necessary.

Arthur sighed and stood up, agitated. “I already told you your secret’s safe with me. I gave you space. What else is there?” He began to pace, and Merlin stood decidedly still. As Arthur moved and talked though, questions spilling out, he felt something building in him. “What could I possibly do to make you trust me?” Arthur said. “I still don’t understand why you haven’t been talking to me about this. Why you didn’t _tell_ me.” His voice was rough with emotion that Merlin couldn’t help but react to.

“Arthur.”

The prince stopped pacing.

“I’d wanted to tell you. For a long time, actually.” He hated how small his voice sounded, and took a moment to try and steady himself. “But something, or one thing really, would always stop me.”

The other looked at him, completely intent. “What was it?”

Merlin swallowed. “Even if I could’ve convinced you that not all magic-users are evil, and even if you could somehow guarantee your father never found out about me, my life would be in your hands in a way it wasn’t before. I know you’re a man of your word, Arthur, but it’s hard to give someone a piece of yourself when they could use it to gut you on nothing more than a whim at any time. You always could.” He looked away. “And even so, it’s a heavy thing, to hold another’s life in your hands. I’m sorry I couldn’t spare you that.”

When he looked back up, Arthur’s face was screwed up into an expression he didn’t recognize. Then the prince walked into the space in front of him and carefully, deliberately, knelt.

“Merlin,” he said, voice even but heavy. “You said that I am a man of my word. As you have pledged yourself to me and my safety, I pledge myself to you and yours, on my mother’s soul. You say that another’s life is a heavy thing to carry, but you have carried mine away from death many times that I know of, and likely many more that I didn’t, if today was any indication. And all without recognition, because of laws I cannot control. Know that if I have to do the same for you, I will do so gladly, and consider it an honor.”

The sight of his prince kneeling, in earnest, for _him_ of all people, broke something in Merlin. The Arthur in front of him was someone he trusted more than his own fear and doubt, and the realization felt like setting down a heavy, invisible weight he’d long ago resigned himself to carrying alone.

He opened his mouth to reply, but he didn’t know what to say, and his vision was already filling up with tears. “Thank you,” he settled on, refusing to feel embarrassed at the crack in his voice. He wiped his face on his arm and offered his hand to help Arthur up. “I know you’re not used to doing that,” he joked. The effect was ruined by his sniffling. Arthur chuckled anyway, and then pulled on their joined hands so that they were embracing. 

“Don’t get used to it,” he grumbled into Merlin’s ear. Merlin hiccuped and hugged him a little tighter. Arthur just huffed, even as he squeezed back. He didn’t let go until Merlin did, after all of his tears had dried and the two had collapsed into Arthur’s bed together, exhausted but with lighter hearts than either could remember having for a long, long time.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really post any merlin content there, but you can find me on tumblr as raviolired! And thanks for reading :)


End file.
